


Aleister Crowley, I Love You

by theinsidiouscinnamonroll



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: :'(, Depressed!Simon, I am very sorry, M/M, Suicidal!Simon, X3, violence + blood mention, when u think you have good ideas at 2am, wow this turned out a lot angsty-er than i intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 21:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinsidiouscinnamonroll/pseuds/theinsidiouscinnamonroll
Summary: Simon comes to terms with the fact that he might have a crush on Baz and confesses when he thinks Baz is asleep.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is probably by far my favourite fanfiction that I have ever written but.... someone keep these dorks away from me i can't stop hurting them x3

It was late at night, almost 4am. Both of the boys in the dorm room had their eyes closed with no intention of going to sleep. Every night, Baz found that he never sat quite right when it was time to drift off into the bliss of sleep. His dreams always consisted of the boy with bronze curls, and his dreams almost always ended with Simon in his face, spitting words of disgust until it was just a string of hurtful words. Baz would show his fear in the dreams. He would cower away from Simon as he shrunk in on himself. Sometimes there was kisses, but they always backfired. Baz was _scared_  to go to sleep.

Simon suffered from a different type of insomnia. The type of insomnia that happens when you step back and look at everything that is happening, could happen, or the ghosts of the past. His mind drifted to gruesome fantasies that ended with Baz’s fangs sinking into his throat. He saw red blood gushing out of him from a sword stuck in his chest. He saw a world where magic disappeared completely and people came after him, blaming him on this catastrophe. He saw Baz’s fists inching towards him in slow motion or the quiet murmur of a spell. He thought of the Mage pressing all of the cold hard truth onto his shoulders and expecting _him_  to do something about it when he didn’t even know what magic _was_. He saw Penny and Agatha dying because he wasn’t quick enough. He saw his failure. 

But new ideas started to creep up on Simon, disrupting every thought of total destruction. He saw pictures of things that he somehow found a peace and love in, but also made him on high alert and made him constantly look over his shoulder. There was no definite moment when it started. Maybe it’s when Agatha broke up with him and he started to look at other options in the darkest of places. Maybe it was with him all along. Maybe he held it in his heart that day he first saw him, but he quickly shoved it under a rug to hide the evidence. Maybe Agatha was a way for him to tell himself that it wasn’t real, that it couldn’t be. Maybe she was just a distraction. 

His ghosts creeped up on him on these nights, making questions swirl around his brain. Like the times when he had the sudden urge to place his arms on the boy’s shoulders, and he would fulfill it by pinning him to a wall. The time his hands longed to touch his face and he tried to make contact with his fists. Like the times he crept behind Simon ever so quietly and scared him, causing Simon to blush for reasons he didn’t understand. And the way he always looked for him first. 

These thoughts that he dismissed as nothing pulled at the corners of his brain, begging for attention like a small child pulling on the sleeve of their mother’s coat. They told him that there are reasons to these actions, just like everything has to have some sort of cause. The effects where what got twisted as they went through denial. The truth was, after Simon was free of Agatha, he realized just how closely he admired black hair and grey eyes with 67 different shades of grey in them. Simon should know, he counted them all. 

“Baz?” Simon calls into the night. Baz does his best to seem motionless and takes deeper breaths, mimicking sleep. Baz hears Simon’s bed creak as he stands up and hears his footsteps get closer and closer until he can feel Simon’s breath on his skin. His breath smells like mint toothpaste and his ever present smoky aurora travels with him. 

“Baz. Basilton. I’m going to say this now before it crushes me and I do something stupid and regret it later. I need to get this out, and the best time for that is when you’re asleep.” Simon takes a deep, shaky breath and Baz wonders if he’s crying. Baz feels a curl fall into his face and  _Aleister Crowley_ Simon pushes it back again, letting his hands linger for a second. He drops them and there’s a rustling of fabric as he stands up again. 

“The truth is, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know if I’m desperate, or if I’m just making my life more miserable, _but I’ve realised something_.

“I think it’s been inside of me for a while, these demented thoughts. I’ve always thought of how elegant your fingers looked poised over the violin strings. I’ve always thought of how your hair reminded me of the midnight sky. I–” he breaks off, his breath quivering as if he was cold. But he isn’t. He’s always been warmer than anyone Baz has ever met. He heard tears drip on the mattress beside him, and was startled when another cold one fell on his hand. His throat started to get choked up as if he was going to cry along with Simon _and he had no idea why_. 

“I know exactly how many shades of grey are in your eyes. 67, to be exact. I’ve counted as you pinned me against the wall, ready to hurt me again, causing bruises and cuts that don’t quite heal right, even though they’ve disappeared from my skin. I found something tharapidic when I counted the kaleidoscope of grey that makes up your eyes. It calmed me when I was about to go off. 

“I’ve memorised the exact way your lips curved. I know how they twist when you sneer and how they can sometimes be a neutral line. I’ve seen the way they they fall when you try to force yourself not to cry. I’ve seen the way you worry at your lip with your fangs when you have a particularly bad dream, the fangs poking into your skin until they draw blood. And I’ve seen you on good nights, where you’ll smile blissfully and your face will relax and you’ll seem _happy_. I notice things Baz, and I can’t help but wish that I could make your expression change from angry to happy. I want to. I want to stop fighting.” He pauses for another deep breath.

“I think it was since I met you. I saw you striding towards me when the cubicle casted us together and my first thought when I saw your high cheekbones and sharp widow’s peak was ‘ _how beautiful’._ I wasn’t ready to accept even the possibility then. I didn’t want to believe that you could twist my mind in this way.

“But even though you tried so hard to make me hate you, I dug deeper. I found what was underneath. I saw past the sharp extirior and saw a boy who is, well, _amazing_. I’m not really sure how to say it, but I’ve seen glimpses of your humor and I’ve come to appreciate your intellect. Sometimes I feel proud when you answer something correctly in class. Sometimes I want to ask you for help just so I can see more of the Baz you keep hidden, but I know I’ll be dead in an instant if I asked you…” Simon took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. Baz was surprised he wasn’t crying. Simon’s words where just _beautiful_. They flowed out of him like a waterfall and so much emotion was poured into them that it made Baz’s heart burst with joy. For a boy with no words, Simon sure was quite the poet. 

“The truth is, Baz, that–that–ugh!” Simon puts his head in his hands.

“Are you ever scared to say something out loud because you fear it will just make things more _real_?” Baz wanted to say yes. He wanted to nod his head until it popped off and take Simon’s hands in his and kiss every mole on his body. But he didn’t. He remained motionless.

“Alright Baz! You want the truth? The truth is, I’m in love with you. Aleister Crowley, I love you so much. And I know it’ll be my undoing in the end. I’ll let everyone down because I just _can’t._ Everyone just expects so much of me, Baz. They think I can fix everything even though I’m more broken than they are. And it doesn’t help that I’m in love with a _monster._ With a _boy_. With my _enemy._ Crowley Baz, I love you so much it’s a physical pain inside of my heart. It’s like a knife keeps pushing deeper and deeper into my heart, twisting until I stop fighting. Until I let it go. Until I give in. I can’t keep fighting, Baz…” Simon murmured the incantation for his sword. 

“That’s why I have to do this. You won Baz. I surrender.” Baz eyes flew open as Simon drew the first drop of blood. With all of his vampiric strength, Baz ripped the blade out of Simon’s hand and grabbed Simon’s wrist, surveying the damage. 

“What the _hell,_ Snow!” Baz yells, not caring if he wakes up the whole school. 

“Baz! Y-y-you’re awake!” Simon says sounding absolutely terrified. 

“Of course I’m awake, Snow! What where you thinking? We have to go down to the infirmary straight away.” 

“Baz it’s _fine,”_ Simon says, jerking his arm away. 

“NO SIMON IT’S NOT!” Baz says, taking the arm back. Simon looks dumbstruck. 

“What is it now, Snow!” Baz snarls. 

“Y-you called me S-s-simon…” Simon whispers softly into the room. 

“THAT’S WHAT’S GETTING YOU WORKED UP? YOU ARE UNBELIEVABLE.”

“Baz. Really, it’s _fine_.”

“No no nope. I don’t trust you anymore, Simon.”

“You did it again.”

“ _What_?” Baz says, exasperated.

“Why are you calling me ‘Simon’? More importantly, why are you helping me? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Aleister Crowley, Snow. Are you really that stupid?”

“What? Why am _I_ stupid. You just passed up the chance to be rid of me.”

“ _Simon_. I never wanted to be rid of you. I wanted…. something else.”

“What Baz? What could you possibly wa–” Baz interrupts him by pressing a short kiss on Simon’s mouth. Both of them explode like a star bursting, creating something beautiful.

“Oh,” is all Simon manages to say. Then, he takes Baz by the back of the head and kisses him again and _Aleister Crowley it felt so good_. 


End file.
